


Don't Be Scared, Little Girl

by escritoireazul



Category: Candle Cove, Gilmore Girls
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rory starts telling people stories about a creepy puppet show she's been watching, Lorelai steps in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Scared, Little Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isquinnabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/gifts).



Rory is watching a lot of television.

It takes Lorelai a few weeks to realize it at first, because while Rory will babble away at her mother or other adults, when she’s left to her own devices, she’s perfectly capable of entertaining herself, usually with a stack of books, sometimes with markers and paper. Pretty much never with the television, which is weird, because Lorelai loves her shows and has it on basically every minute she's home. Not Rory, though.

Except.

Lately, Lorelai finds Rory sitting in front of the television, instead of curled up in her bed (or, often, in Lorelai’s bed) reading some book the librarian thinks is far too big for such a young girl. Most of the time, the television’s off, and Rory is reading, but sometimes, she’s just sitting there, head tilted, staring off into space.

“Rory?” Lorelai asks the first time she finds her sitting that way. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking up a story,” Rory says, and scrambles to her feet, wraps her arms around her mother’s legs in a tight hug. And then, apropos nothing, she asks, “Am I old enough to drink coffee yet?”

Lorelai laughs. “Not yet.” But she makes Rory warm milk with sugar and just enough coffee to color it a faint brown.

*

“That girl of yours,” Sally trails off, shaking her head and laughing a little. “She’s got a wild imagination, that one.” Sally’s one of the youngest maids at the Independence Inn, though not as young as Lorelai was when she started. She smiles a lot, and flirts with everyone, and loves all the same music as Lorelai.

“Yeah,” Lorelai says, voice fond. “She’s clever, my girl.”

“Very! And,” Sally lowers her voice conspiratorially, “a little creepy. You may have the next Stephen King on your hands, Lorelai.”

Lorelai frowns. Rory tells her stories all the time, but never anything with even a whiff of horror. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, she was telling me this story about some puppets, and it got pretty scary. One of them stole people’s skin!” Sally shivers dramatically, but there’s something to her expression that makes Lorelai think she’s not really faking it. “Dolls are creepy as hell anyway, but when Rory got going about this skin taker guy – no thank you! She’s just a kid, and she’s already braver than me.”

*

“Janice is really scared, Mommy.” Lorelai and Rory are tucked into Lorelai’s bed, cuddling under the covers. It’s chilly, an early cold snap. The plants will frost over during the night, and Lorelai is glad she’s never really been good at gardening, or she’d have to be out there, trying to protect her fruits and vegetables.

“Tell me all about it,” Lorelai prompts, smoothing back Rory’s hair.

“He’s coming for her, and she knows it. Poppy says they’ll protect her, him and all the pirates, but Janice is still scared.”

“Who’s going to hurt her?” Lorelai asks.

Rory’s face twists up, and she pulls the blanket closer to her chin. “The Skin-Taker,” she whispers.

Though Lorelai hasn’t had the chance to think about it much, she’s reminded of her conversation with Sally. “That’s a nasty name,” she says, and Rory nods.

“He’s mean, and scary.” She sits up a little straighter. “Janice should stand up to him, stop being so scared. He likes it when she’s afraid.”

This is a kid’s show? Lorelai doesn’t like the sound of it one bit.

“Rory, I don’t know if I want you watching this show. Tell me a little more about it.”

Rory yawns. “It’s fun, Mommy. I don’t like the Skin-Taker, but Percy is funny. I like Janice, when she’s not scared. She's really smart, and she likes to read, like me."

Lorelai hums a little, encouraging Rory to keep going, but Rory snuggles down, burying her face against the pillow, and doesn’t say anything else. 

*

Lorelai gets off early one afternoon, brings Rory snacks left over from a luncheon at the inn, rich desserts and candied flowers and delicate sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Rory’s in front of the television, books scattered all around her, but she’s not reading. She sits and stares at the screen, and her hands are fisted, her expression fierce.

The television is on, but all Lorelai can see is gray static. The hissing noise that comes with it sets her on edge, raises hair along her arms, down the back of her neck.

“Rory?” It comes out more tentative than she intends.

“Wait a minute,” Rory says, not looking at her, and her voice is old and hard, nothing like Rory's sweet voice at all. “Janice needs me.”

Lorelai still can’t see anything on the screen, but there’s something in the static noise that scrapes at her, something just outside the range of her hearing, something she can feel more than hear.

She crouches next to Rory, balancing herself carefully, all thoughts of a fun afternoon watching bad television and eating snacks with her daughter gone. “Rory, the t.v.’s broken. Let’s go have a picnic.”

“No, no, look, Janice is going to face the Skin-Taker. She needs me to be brave.” Rory leans forward, her face far too close to the screen. Lorelai is struck by the image of a hand reaching out, pushing against the gray fuzz filling the screen until it breaches the glass, grabs Rory, and drags her inside, into another dimension filled with ghosts or demons or monsters. Talking puppets. Skin-stealing things.

Lorelai scoops her up, ignoring the way Rory cries out, _no, Mommy, stop, I have to save Janice_ , and runs, not even caring that the television is on, and all the lights in the kitchen, and the door is unlocked. She puts Rory in the car, buckles her in tight, and _drives_.

*

Hours later, when she has to stop for gas, Rory is fretful, grumpy, but no longer shouting. Lorelai gets gas station coffee – horrible, burnt, and weak – and a bag full of junk food. Lots of chocolate.

*

She keeps driving. Not long after sunset, Rory’s whole attitude changes. She’s happy again, and starts to tell Lorelai a story about little girls in the woods, and the bear they befriend. She drinks juice, eats cookies, grins at her mother.

Lorelai turns around, heads home, but slower than she drove away. 

She watches too many horror movies, she decides. Imprinted on _Poltergeist_ , and now she’s been caught up in the scary stories other people tell. She’s being ridiculous, overreacting.

“Bye, Janice,” Rory says, her voice soft, almost sing-song, as she stares out the window. “I’m sorry.”

*

Rory never mentions Janice, or the Skin-Taker, or that creepy television show again. It seems she cannot remember.

Lorelai, meanwhile, can never forget.


End file.
